Proving Murphy's Law
by Ellex
Summary: An unusual streak of bad luck accompanies Sheppard, McKay, Teyla and Ronon on an off-world mission. Was it something Sheppard said?


This story is set in Season 3, sometime prior to "Sunday".

**Murphy's Law:** _Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong._

* * *

First contact, John Sheppard thought, was always a tricky thing. A lot depended on how interested their new 'friends' were in being friendly in the first place. Most people were cautiously willing to set aside their fears and make nice.

Some people weren't.

He reached down to help Teyla up the rocky hillside, watching Ronon do the same thing for McKay a few yards back. Behind them, the neighboring peak loomed in the cloudless sky.

The MALP hadn't been able to adequately show the incredible vista on the other side of the Stargate. They had walked through the event horizon to find that the Gate was nestled in a little, sheltered plateau halfway up a mountainside, high enough that the air was thin, twin suns shining hotly down on a nearly barren landscape. Far below, they could see a lush, green valley.

They were getting farther and farther from the Stargate, but it couldn't be helped – the natives, Sheppard thought wryly, were restless. They'd met the Ossining minutes after emerging from the Gate: a party of fierce, volatile warriors, both male and female, led by a wary, suspicious elderly man. Teyla and Sheppard's attempts at friendly dialogue were immediately rebuffed, and they grew even more agitated when Rodney opened his mouth. John wasn't quite certain what had set them off in the end, but the words shouted at them by their chief, the Elder, sounded a lot like some kind of death curse, what with all the references to the visitors meeting gruesome deaths by fire and rock.

John and his team had superior firepower, but they were hopelessly outnumbered by the Ossining warriors, and an arrow could kill just as effectively as a bullet. Or at least, they'd _had_ superior firepower. After declaring them to be malignant fairies, or elves, or some such thing, the Ossining had taken all their weapons, including their field knives.

Ronon, of course, had knives of all sizes and shapes concealed everywhere – mostly in his hair, it seemed – and had handed out two apiece to Sheppard and Teyla, and one to Rodney.

"Does Carson know you have this?" The blade Rodney waved at Ronon was a large scalpel.

John and Teyla had prudently moved back out of Rodney's reach, but the Satedan just stared at him. "Yeah," he said succinctly.

"Oh." Rodney deflated, and John had to grin. Ronon wasn't particularly talkative at the best of times, but he often resorted to monosyllables around Rodney – mainly, John suspected, because it irritated the scientist. The seemingly taciturn Runner had turned out to be quite the tease. "You know this isn't actually much help against 30 or so arrows pointed directly at us."

"It's better than nothing, Rodney," John had told him.

What none of them wanted to bring up was the knowledge that the DHD on this side of the Stargate had been damaged when one of the Ossining warriors decided to experiment with John's P-90. The resulting confusion had given them the opportunity to escape, but the only direction they could go was farther up into the mountains. Hopefully, if they could avoid the hunting party chasing them, circle back to the Stargate, and take out the guards, Rodney would be able to fix the DHD.

Worse yet, they couldn't expect a rescue attempt from Atlantis for at least 12 hours, and Rodney was fairly certain, from his brief look at the damage to the DHD before they'd escaped, that the damage had shorted out the Gate to the extent that no one could dial in, either.

They were being deliberately herded in this direction, higher and higher up an almost non-existent path that could only have been safely negotiated by a mountain goat. That much was becoming clear, and whatever was at the end of the path couldn't possibly be good. John was betting on a sheer cliff from the look of the landscape: pale rock rising in a series of ridges until he couldn't see the horizon past them.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, gulping the thin air, bracing his hands on his knees, wincing a little from the sting of his abraded fingers. He'd slipped more than once, loose rock sliding under his feet as he practically blazed his own trail. Teyla stopped beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. She wasn't even breathing hard, he noticed, admiring and envious.

She was sweating, though, tangled strands of hair sticking to her skin, and he felt a little better.

Rodney was doggedly following in Ronon's footsteps. The big man moved with effortless grace up the hillside. Watching them, John realized that Ronon was carefully choosing the easiest and safest path he could find for McKay, helping him up the steepest parts.

Seeming to sense John's gaze, the Specialist glanced up and grinned tightly.

"I swear he's enjoying himself," John muttered.

"Yes," Teyla responded, trying to tuck loose hair behind her ears, "I believe Ronon finds this…exhilarating."

Ronon and McKay had caught up to them – and so were the Ossining, coming into view at the bottom of the last slope, making their way up through the rocks with an ease that spoke of familiarity. They knew where they were going, knew that the terrain was forcing their quarry in a single direction. John estimated they had only about 20 minutes lead on them.

"We need to pick up the pace, guys, they're catching up. Hopefully we'll find somewhere to make a stand, or better yet, backtrack to the Gate."

"I fear it will be the former," Teyla sighed, following John.

"What's the matter with these people?" McKay groused, panting. "Why can't they just say, 'Hey, we don't like you, so just leave and don't come back'? No, it always has to be arrows, and slingshots, and guns, and chasing us for miles, and trying to kill us."

"Next time, McKay, if I tell you to be polite to the locals, just ignore me," Sheppard called back. "In fact, try not to talk to anyone at all."

"It's not my fault, and I was just trying to be nice," Rodney shouted back. "I should have known better than to take a page out of the 'John Sheppard Manual of Charming the Pants Off Alien Women'. It always works so well for you."

Teyla snickered, and John shot her a wounded look over his shoulder.

His foot slipped on a loose rock while his eyes were off the ground in front of him, and he went down hard, his knees and left hand taking the brunt of the impact, teeth closing hard over his tongue. He rolled onto his side, shaking slightly. For a moment, he couldn't straighten his legs, knees almost numb with pain.

But his bitten tongue actually hurt worse than his knees at the moment. He resisted the urge to cover his mouth with his hands – just as well, since the left hand was bleeding from the multitude of small rock shards embedded in the palm. He leaned over and spat to rid himself of the hot, metallic taste of his own blood, and froze, all pain forgotten.

To his right, a wall of nearly white rock rose to a height of about forty feet. It leaned over them, the base lost in shadows, one of which seemed deeper, darker than the others.

John allowed Teyla to help him up, staggering a few steps until his knees remembered how to bend.

"I think there's a cave over there," he said, ignoring Rodney's gleeful sniping at his clumsiness. He started toward the shadowed area, but Ronon moved faster, bending under the rock overhang. Teyla produced her firelighter and John fished a small flashlight out of his tac vest, playing the light over the edges of a long, low opening in the rock face.

"Looks like it goes back a good ways," Ronon said, letting Teyla slip past him. Even she had to duck to clear the low ceiling.

"It opens up further on," her voice echoed back to them as she moved deeper into the cave, followed by Ronon.

"What do you think, Teyla?" Sheppard called to her.

She appeared at the opening and replied, "I think it will do very well. The cave is dry and appears to be stable."

"Good. We can rest here for a bit and let the Ossining go right by, then double back to the Stargate. Come on, Rodney."

McKay eyed the cave entrance unhappily. "You want us to hide in that tiny hole? There could be anything in there – wild animals, bugs the size of your head, the whole cliff could come down on top of us—"

Sheppard winced at the mention of bugs. "Any sign of previous occupants?" he yelled into the cave.

"Nope," the reply echoed back in Ronon's voice. "It's actually pretty big, though, so there could be something farther back."

"There, you see?" Rodney pounced on the information. "It's probably home to a whole nest of, of – of alien bears."

"Then it's big enough to share. And Teyla said it looks pretty stable."

"Teyla isn't a geologist, how would she know?" Rodney's tone was sharp.

"You have a choice, Rodney," John said, holding onto his patience with both hands, realizing that Rodney's problem with the cave was not so much its safety or lack thereof as it was the anticipation of being trapped in an enclosed space. "You can stay here and wait for the Ossining, or you can hide in the cave with us. But you'd better decide soon, because the choice won't be available much longer."

Rodney groaned, but dug in his tac vest for a flashlight. Aiming the beam into the cave, he illuminated Ronon's face peering out at them.

"All clear, c'mon in," Ronon said, teeth gleaming whitely. "It's bigger than it looks."

Glancing involuntarily back down the path, Rodney took a deep breath and stepped forward, mouth set in a thin line. He and Sheppard crept into the cave, finding Ronon and Teyla in a passage abutting the main chamber where they could leave their flashlights on without the glow being seen outside the cave. More importantly, if the Ossining noticed the opening and decided to investigate, Sheppard and his team would have the tactical advantage.

It was pitch-black in the cave, their small flashlights doing little to illuminate the darkness. John stumbled over the uneven ground and went down on one knee. It hurt much more than he was expecting, and he rolled onto his hip, trying not to cry out. Playing the thin beam of his flashlight over his legs, he was surprised to find the cloth of his trousers was spotted with blood and nearly shredded at the knees. He moved his left hand into the light as well and winced at the sight of more than a dozen thin chips of stone embedded in his palm. He had pushed the stinging pain to the back of his mind in all the urgency of finding a place to hide from the Ossining, but now it was unavoidable.

"What the hell did you do to yourself, Sheppard?" Rodney peered at his hand. "Don't pick at them! Here, hold the light and keep still." He pulled a slim zipper case out of a vest pocket and opened it to reveal a set of tiny tools. Selecting a pair of tweezers, he took John's hand in his own to hold it steady and began to pull out the stone chips with the same exacting precision John had seen him use on Ancient technology and nuclear bombs. From the clamminess of Rodney's hand, he thought that the scientist was probably grateful for the distraction from his claustrophobia. John was grateful, too, because those pebbles hurt like hell for all they were so small – hurt nearly as much coming out as they had going in – but was also amused at being so delicately ministered to by McKay.

He glanced over his shoulder, checking on Teyla and Ronon, who had automatically taken up watch at the edge of their recess, knives at the ready, and allowed himself to relax just a little.

Rodney dug at a chip and John twitched, clamping his teeth over the curses that threatened to spill from his mouth. The scientist tugged the shard free and held it up to the light.

"Look," he said softly, "this rock fractures into chips like fish scales. They're so thin you can actually see the light through them – like obsidian, only white. I think this might be some kind of volcanic rock. This entire mountain formation may be the remnants of a long-dormant string of volcanoes. At least, I hope it's dormant. I bet we're on the rim of a tectonic plate." He played the flashlight across the cave walls. "Did you notice there's no sign of flooding back here? This cave wasn't entirely hollowed out by running water. It looks more like a network of lava tubes. I wonder how far it goes."

"We don't have time to go exploring," John reminded him.

"I know, I know. I certainly wouldn't want to without the proper equipment. Most people who die in caves do so because they were unprepared," Rodney rattled on. "I was just thinking, the Ancient database was pretty vague about exactly why they were interested in the rocks they found here. The entry Elizabeth found just said that they kept coming back for more. They didn't even bother to mention what the rocks looked like or what they did with it. Maybe this white obsidian is it."

"Just get them out, Rodney," John hissed at him. Rodney gave an irritated little huff and went back to work.

By the time the Ossining passed by the cave entrance, Rodney had picked most of the tiny shards out of John's hand and one of his knees. They all froze, weapons at hand, until the hunters had moved out of earshot.

John let out the breath he'd been holding and picked up his flashlight again. Rodney finished removing as many of the sharp stone chips as he could from John's knees, returned the little toolcase to his vest, and produced a tube of antibiotic ointment and a roll of gauze with a flourish and a smug grin. He slathered the ointment generously over the oozing cuts and wrapped the gauze around John's hand.

"I knew you'd come in handy one of these days, Rodney," John murmured, pointing the light towards his own face and grinning his thanks.

"You're welcome. Can we get out of here now?" Rodney said in a stage whisper that echoed around the cave.

Moments later, they were following a ledge that seemed to lead back down the cliff-face, hoping to avoid encountering any of the hunting party by taking a different path. They slid often on the loose rubble, trying to move both quickly and carefully. Ronon took the lead, Teyla the rear, Sheppard finding himself downgraded from protector to protectee status without consultation. It was one of the things he liked best and least about working with Teyla and Ronon: that they didn't have to wait for his order to act, but could make decisions and judgment calls on their own. And as much as he hated to admit it, every step sent tiny stabbing pains through his knees, making it appropriate to put him in the middle of the group, following Rodney.

This was turning out to be a very bad day, John thought grimly, reminded of their departure from Atlantis that morning. Elizabeth had stood at the bottom of the steps in the Gate Room to see them off with her usual request to come back safely.

"It looks like this planet is uninhabited, but if you do meet anyone, please try not to offend them this time," she said, looking more tired than usual. "I know, I know, the business on P49-6X3 last week wasn't your fault. It would just be nice to have you all come back in one piece and with news of potential trading partners or allies."

John, by contrast, had been feeling particularly cheerful and confident – fresh eggs, bacon, and pancakes for breakfast, courtesy of the recent arrival of the _Daedalus_, had put him in a good mood. "It'll be fine, Elizabeth. We're just going to check it out, see why the Ancients were so interested in that planet. What could possibly go wrong?"

Sudden silence descended on the Gate Room, and Sheppard, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of too many eyes focused on him, looked up at the balcony of the Control Center to see a line of faces looking down disapprovingly. He glanced at his team and cringed slightly.

"It is not wise to tempt the Ancestors," Teyla said flatly; Ronon rumbled his agreement, and Rodney glared at him.

"Haven't you caught on yet that my scientists are an even more superstitious lot than your soldiers?" he said. "They think you've just put a jinx on the entire day. Now they won't get anything done without me around to yell at them."

"Don't tell me _you're_ superstitious, Rodney," John smiled weakly.

"Of course not. But _I_," he pointed at himself, "have to reassure _them_," he pointed at the people on the balcony, who fled back to their work as Rodney frowned horrendously at them," that it's all nonsense, and it doesn't help when you go around saying provocative things like that. Now," he clapped his hands together," could we please get going? The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll get back and I can tell all those so-called scientists up there just what a load of credulous morons they are for believing in such superstitious claptrap."

Now, making his way carefully along a narrow ledge over a steep slope of loose rock, John wasn't feeling quite so cavalier about the issue. He couldn't really bring himself to believe that his innocent statement was the cause of their troubles, but it certainly seemed like someone had it in for him.

He cast a glance around him. There were places like this in Antarctica, where the sky seemed to curve down to meet the mountains, where the terrain seemed alien and utterly lifeless at times. There were places in Afghanistan, too, where the desert stretched in undulating waves for countless miles until you couldn't tell where the earth ended and the sky began.

And yet, he'd been to dozens of planets, in another galaxy no less, and most of them seemed less alien than Antarctica or Afghanistan ever had. Of course, the twin suns shining hotly down out of the sky here went a long ways towards that 'alien' feeling.

A sudden cry pulled his attention back to their current situation. John looked up from watching the landscape to see Ronon drop straight down, the path crumbling underneath him. Rodney, following closely behind, grabbed instinctively at Ronon's arm and was pulled off his feet to land flat on his stomach, scrabbling for purchase with his other hand to keep from being pulled over the edge.

John lunged forward and snatched at the straps on the back of Rodney's tac vest as the scientist began to slide, throwing his weight backward as a counterbalance.

For a moment, no one moved. John strained against the combined weight of the two men, and Rodney whimpered, eyes shut tight and mouth compressed in a thin line. His left hand clutched at the edge of the path, and his right arm was stretched over it, his legs spread wide for balance. Then Teyla latched onto John's vest, adding her negligible weight but not inconsiderable strength to their impromptu human chain.

"Ronon, you okay?" Sheppard called, and was relieved to hear a reply in the affirmative echoing back to him. "Can you climb up?"

A second later, Rodney squeaked breathlessly and slid forward a couple of inches, then a large hand appeared beside him, grabbing at the ragged edge of the path. John knelt between Rodney's legs, adrenaline numbing the painful pressure on the shredded skin of his knees, and carefully reached out to help Ronon.

The rocky ground gave a loud crack and a watermelon-sized chunk of the path fell away from under Ronon's hand. Rodney was jerked forward again, pulling John along with him as the scientist screamed in pain and terror. Only Teyla's firm grip on John's vest allowed him to regain his balance and throw his weight backwards again, barely preventing Rodney from following Ronon over the edge.

For a second, he thought they'd lost Ronon, but Rodney's arm was still being pulled straight down, his head and shoulders hanging in the air over the new edge of the shattered path.

"Ronon!" John bellowed over the sound of Rodney gasping for breath like a fish out of water. "Ronon!" he shouted again, hearing the echoes bounce back off the rocky cliffs around them. The noise was probably betraying their position to the Ossining, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. Ronon wasn't answering, and John's stomach felt like it had dropped over the cliff with him.

"Rodney, what's going on with Ronon?"

The scientist gave no sign that he'd heard the question, so Sheppard repeated it, nudging his leg with one knee. Rodney's head jerked up and his eyes flew open.

"My shoulder," he groaned, "oh god, my arm's gonna fall off."

"Keep holding on, Rodney," Teyla called to him. "You are being very brave. Now, we need you to look down and tell us if Ronon is injured."

Rodney groaned again. "He's – he's out cold," he spoke in short bursts between breaths, "I think – the rocks – fell on his head. I can't hold on – he's too heavy – my shoulder – "

"Just a little longer, buddy, don't let go. Teyla," John spoke over his shoulder, "can you grab Rodney's ankles and keep him from sliding any farther? I'm going to inch forward and try to reach Ronon."

He waited until she had a firm grasp, then crouched over Rodney's back, crawling forward until he could see over the edge. Ronon dangled limply, his head hanging down so that John could see only the thick ropes of his dreads. Rodney had him by one arm, his hand a rigid claw around Ronon's wrist.

"Rodney, I'm going to reach down and grab Ronon. Don't let go until I tell you to, okay?"

"Hurry," the scientist whimpered. "Oh god, please hurry."

John had to practically lie on top of Rodney in order to reach down far enough to grab Ronon's limp hand. Gritting his teeth, he strained to pull the former Runner high enough to clutch the unconscious man's forearm with his other hand. The movement sent stabbing pains through his palm, dozens of thin slices like papercuts opening up again when they had just started to scab over. He made himself ignore it, forced his hand to close tightly around Ronon's muscular arm.

He shifted his other hand down to join it, and paused. "You can let go now, Rodney," he told the scientist, feeling the man trembling under him.

"I – I can't – "

"Rodney, let go!"

He tried to heave Ronon upwards and heard Rodney cry out, "I can't move my hand, I can't let go!"

Knowing he couldn't hold onto Ronon for much longer in this awkward position, John growled out, "_Now_, Rodney!" and sat down hard on McKay's back. Rodney voiced a startled grunt, but his fingers opened up around Ronon's wrist and John immediately pulled as hard as he could, shifted his good hand to the collar of Ronon's coat and heaved again until he could rest Ronon's torso half on top of Rodney. He shuffled backwards and pulled again, muttering "Sorry, McKay," as he manhandled the limp Satedan over Rodney's prone form and back from the edge of the path.

He left Teyla to help Rodney while he dragged Ronon farther until he reached a wider area of the path a few yards back. Carefully lowering his burden to the ground, he collapsed, panting. His left hand and his knees burned as the adrenaline high started to wear off, new blood spotting the gauze on his hand.

Still trying to catch his breath – Ronon was very heavy, and his sheer size made him even harder to maneuver while unconscious, and of course the thin air at this altitude didn't help – John leaned over and brushed the tumbled dreadlocks out of Ronon's face with a trembling hand. Blood had run down from a ragged laceration on his forehead, painting his face with a gruesome mask of bright red, but the flow of crimson had already started to slow. It didn't look too deep, John was relieved to see, but his friend was still out cold.

He was fishing in his tac vest for the alcohol wipes he knew he had stashed somewhere when Rodney came stumbling towards him, Teyla trying to steady him while the scientist choked out a steady stream of curses. John heard him mention the Ossining, the crumbling path, Satedans who could stand to lose some weight, and a certain Air Force Lieutenant Colonel that had 'jinxed' the mission. If Rodney's mouth was going, he couldn't be too badly injured, John thought.

"How is Ronon?" Teyla asked immediately, helping Rodney to sit. The cursing broke off suddenly as Rodney clenched his teeth and his face went from red to stark white, eyes squeezed shut, as she examined the arm that hung limply by his side.

"He's got a nasty cut on his forehead, but it's stopped bleeding. I'm hoping he won't have a concussion." Relieved to be able to leave McKay to Teyla, John lightly slapped Ronon's cheek. "C'mon, buddy, wake up. We can't stay here much longer." He jerked back in surprise when Ronon groaned and tried to push him away, nearly hitting John in the face. "Whoa, Ronon, watch it! You're okay, buddy, we got you."

"Wha – what happened?" Ronon tried to sit up, but John pressed him back down, frowning when it proved entirely too easy to do so. He found the wipes and carefully cleaned the blood away from the wound, then pressed a bandage over it and got Ronon to hold it in place.

"You fell over the edge, you behemoth, that's what happened," Rodney moaned at him. "You're always on at me about losing weight – what about you? You weigh a ton! Oh god, Teyla, I can't feel my fingers – I'm gonna lose the whole arm, aren't I?"

"Rodney, calm down. I think your shoulder is merely dislocated. It will not need to be amputated." She felt his wrist for a pulse, trying to ignore Rodney's loud, panting breaths while she checked to make sure the dislocation hadn't cut off the flow of blood.

"John?" she called quietly. "I think we had better attempt to put Rodney's shoulder back in before we continue."

"What?" Sheppard looked up from checking Ronon's pupils. "Teyla, we can't stick around here – the Ossining are going to catch up with us any minute now."

She met his eyes, her expression grave. "I know. But I do not think he can make it back to the Stargate otherwise. We have a long way to go yet, and over difficult terrain. We will still need to bind his arm to his side, but his pain will be lessened and he will find it easier to move."

"Oh, god, do you have to?" Rodney moaned. "This is gonna hurt, isn't it? I mean, even more than it does now, which is really, really a lot. Do you even know what you're doing? I mean, have you ever done this before?"

She knelt in front of him and looked into his eyes. "Yes, Rodney, I have done this before. I won't lie to you – it will hurt a great deal. But I promise it will hurt less once it is done. And it will be easier now, before the muscles seize up."

Rodney closed his eyes and shivered. "Okay, okay, just do it, but don't be surprised if I pass out from the pain."

"John, I will need your help to keep Rodney still," Teyla said. "And give me your belt." She caught the surprised looks from both McKay and Sheppard and sighed. "To make a sling for your arm, Rodney."

John helped a still groggy Ronon sit up and lean against the rocks, then joined Teyla. "Where do you want me?"

"I need you to hold him. His upper body must remain still while I move his arm, and hopefully the joint will slip back into place."

Rodney looked up at her while John positioned himself on the ground behind Rodney and slid his arms around the scientist's chest to hold him in place. "Hopefully?! I thought you said you knew what you were doing!"

She knelt beside him. "And I do, Rodney, but it may take several tries to get it in, and this procedure is not always successful. But," she raised a hand against his protests, "it is _usually _successful, and I have little doubt that it will prove so now."

"C'mon, McKay," Ronon called, "suck it up. Let Teyla fix your shoulder so we can get out of here."

The scientist sent a glare at Ronon that could have melted ice. "_You_ had to be dragged back here, for your information, _Conan_. _I _walked. Maybe you could show a little gratitude to the man who sustained a serious injury while saving _your_ life!"

"Hey, McKay," Ronon called again. Teyla took hold of Rodney's arm at the wrist and elbow, and nodded to John, who tightened his grasp around Rodney.

"What?!"

"Thanks."

Rodney stared, open-mouthed, at Ronon, and Teyla took advantage of the distraction to move his arm, lifting it steadily and carefully up, then rotating it outward, persevering when she met resistance. Rodney gasped, and John shifted one hand up to cover Rodney's mouth in order to muffle the scream that tore its way out of his throat. John heard a horrible crunch from Rodney's shoulder as the joint popped back into place, and he convulsed in Sheppard's grip, flinging his head back.

Unfortunately, John's face was in the way. He had a split second to think _'Oh shit'_ before Rodney's head connected with his face. His nose flared with white-hot pain and he fell back, letting go of Rodney. Automatically, he brought his hands up to his face and encountered a flow of hot, thick blood streaming from his nose.

For a long moment, he was aware of little other than the excruciating agony of his face. The blood was running down the back of his throat, as well, and he gasped and coughed, which cleared his airway but sent fresh bolts of pain through his nose.

"I think you gave me a concussion, Sheppard!"

Rodney's voice was hoarse and ragged, but the familiar note of irritation eased a little of John's anxiety even through the throbbing of his face. He pried his eyes open and blinked away the involuntary tears that blurred his vision to find Teyla crouched in front of him, peering worriedly at him.

"John? Are you - "

The first sound out of his mouth was an inarticulate croak. Another cough, another wince, and he managed to rasp, "Doe, I'b dod ogay."

Teyla looked even more concerned, and he tried again. "No, I'b nod okay. You broke my dose, Rod'ey," he tried to glare over Teyla's shoulder at the scientist, now sitting several feet away. He wasn't sure how successful he was, since his entire face hurt almost too much to speak.

"It's not like it was intentional, Colonel," Rodney told him, an odd look passing over his face as if he couldn't decide whether to go for innocent or outraged. "You wouldn't believe how much that hurt. It was pure agony. It's not my fault your face got in the way."

John was about to retort with something about Rodney's head being too big to miss, when Teyla heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Teyla?"

"Hush," she said severely. "I have no doubt the Ossining hunters have heard all the noise we have caused, and we have no time for placing blame for your injuries. We must leave this place as soon as possible."

She turned back to Rodney and put her hands to his waist. He gave a startled squawk and fluttered his good hand at her.

"I need your belt, Rodney!" she hissed.

"Well, why didn't you –" he broke off when she scowled ferociously at him, and let her pull up his shirt and tug his belt off. She rebuckled it on the last hole and slipped it over his head, gently settling his arm – which he'd been cradling against his chest – into the support of the strap.

"How is your shoulder, Rodney?" she asked, tilting his head up with a finger under his chin so that she could look into his eyes.

"Um, better, actually," he replied with evident surprise. "Still agonizing, but not excruciating."

"A fine distinction," she smiled, prompting a slight blush from the scientist. "Try to keep your shoulder as still as possible. I do not think you have a concussion, but tell me if you begin to feel unwell."

Meanwhile, Ronon had been watching the proceedings with a slightly loopy grin plastered across his face, which he directed at Teyla when she moved to his side.

"Ronon?" She peered anxiously into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"'m fine," he said, his voice unusually soft. "Help me up." But his attempt to rise barely got him as far as his knees before his face went oddly gray under the warm bronze of his normal skin tone, and he fell back, breathing harshly through his mouth.

"You're not going to throw up, are you?" Rodney asked worriedly. "Because if you start, I don't think I'll be far behind, and I'd really rather not add that particular horror to my current list of problems."

"Nah," Ronon panted, "not gonna vomit if you don't."

John hauled himself to his feet, fighting off a brief wave of vertigo and a shaft of pain that seemed to run from his rapidly swelling nose straight into his brain. His and Teyla's combined efforts got Ronon upright and standing on his own two feet, although as soon as they let go of him he staggered and nearly went down again.

In the end, it took both John and Teyla to keep the big man on his feet and moving, Rodney trailing unsteadily behind. John's nose had stopped bleeding, for the most part, although several times he had to stop and hawk up a gobbet of blood and snot from the back of his throat, and each time it felt like someone was trying to drive an icepick up his nose. The entire center of his face throbbed with each step, and considering the way the skin was swelling, he had little doubt that he'd end up with a nice pair of black eyes in the bargain.

Backtracking up the precarious hillside actually proved to be faster than going down had been, even with the added burden of trying to keep Ronon not just moving, but moving in a straight line. When they reached the crest, John heaved a sigh of relief to find that the Ossining were nowhere in sight – even though that didn't mean much, since the uneven terrain allowed only a limited view in any direction.

"We should head back to the cave, and rest there until morning," Teyla announced.

John peered around Ronon at her. "I don't thing we're all dat far frob the Stargate dow. We should try to find anoder path down de bountain."

"Making our way down the mountain at night poses too great a risk of further injury," Teyla replied flatly. "We need rest, and the suns will set soon. If the Ossining find the cave, we will be able to mount a better defense than if they catch us in the open."

"If we can get off de bountain before sunset, we can try for de Gate under cover of dargness."

"What?" Rodney asked from behind them. "Under cover of _what_? I have no idea what you're saying. I realize that enunciating is not something that, as an American, you're accustomed to doing, but please remember that none of the rest of us are Americans."

Ronon raised his head. "I can understand him just fine."

"Yes, well, that would be because you mumble, too. Almost worse than Sheppard. Now, which way are we going? Because the longer we stand here arguing about it, the more likely the Ossining are to show up and finish beating the crap out of us. Oh wait," he snapped his fingers, "we managed to get the crap beaten out of us without their help."

John did feel like someone had beaten the crap out of him. He was tired, and hurting, and completely fed up with their situation, and it seemed like almost every decision he'd made today was the wrong one. Rodney and Ronon were both hurt, and from the way Ronon continued to lean heavily on both John and Teyla, the former Runner had taken a pretty bad hit.

"We need to make a decision now, John," Teyla reminded him. Her face gave nothing away, but her voice held the tone she took on when she thought he was making a bad decision but didn't want to call him on it.

"Fine," he snapped, knowing he sounded like Rodney and completely unable to help it, "if dat's how you want it, we'll go back to de cave and try for de gate in de morning. You're in charge now, Teyla."

All three of them stared at him – even Ronon peered hazily down at John while he tried to control his temper.

"O-kay," Rodney finally said. "Back to the cave it is, then, in the devout hope that the Ossining don't know about it and don't catch us before we get there, because seriously, this day has been more than bad enough already."

"Please lead the way, Rodney," Teyla instructed, sounding weary. She settled Ronon's arm more securely around her shoulders.

They went on in silence, punctuated only by the scrape and rattle of their footsteps on the rock and the wet, stifled sound of John breathing through his mouth. Even Rodney was uncharacteristically quiet after his initial protests about 'taking point', which came to a swift demise after Teyla offered to let him take her place supporting Ronon. His mouth shut with an almost audible snap and his free hand crept up to his injured shoulder.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he said weakly.

"Precisely," Teyla told him sharply.

It was pretty bad, John thought, when two out of three of them started to sound like they were channeling McKay. He hoped it was just the result of this particularly bad day, and not something that had been creeping up on them unnoticed, the product of too much time spent in each others' company.

He wasn't sure if the thought that he himself was unconsciously taking on elements of Rodney's personality was scarier than the same thing happening to Teyla. They all depended on her to maintain a serene and diplomatic atmosphere among the team – maybe too much so. He should tell her sometime how much he appreciated it, although the prospect of that conversation was almost worse than the idea of Teyla acting like Rodney.

Breathing through his mouth was making his throat feel sticky, and he coughed to clear it. The bleeding from his nose had stopped, but enough had gone down the back of his throat to make his stomach queasy and leave a taste like a dirty penny in his mouth.

He heard a heavy sigh from Ronon's other side, and resolved to apologize to Teyla for snapping at her as soon as possible. He'd do it later, though, because right now he needed all his breath to keep moving under Ronon's weight. She was right, of course. They were too tired and hurt to try for the Stargate right now. If it was guarded – and John had no doubt that it was – they'd need all their strength and wits to get home.

As they trudged on – or in Ronon's case, staggered – John kept a concerned eye on the skies above. The twin suns were setting the mountains above on fire in a rather spectacular manner, but he could see baleful-looking clouds creeping in swiftly through the gaps between the summits. Some looked almost low enough to touch the peaks, giving the impression that the tops of the rocky spires might tear through the clouds like knives.

Ahead of him, Rodney slipped on the scree and went down on one knee, pulled off balance by his immobilized arm. He lurched back up, swearing profusely.

"This day is swiftly becoming a contender for the top ten worst days of my entire life," he moaned.

"Id could be worse," Sheppard told him, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably. "I mead, you're nod stuck in a Jumper ad the bottom of de ocean."

"Oh yes, thank you so much for reminding me of that. I said the top ten, not the absolute worst day of all time."

"Ad least id isn't raining yet." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Oh, John," Teyla sighed.

Rodney turned and glared at him, then trudged on again without speaking.

Sighing, John readjusted Ronon's arm across his shoulders, knowing that when Rodney actually _didn't_ yell, you could tell that he was _really_ irritated.

John had never been so aggressively ignored before, but Rodney and Teyla were both doing it vigorously now. He could almost feel the disapproval coming off of them in waves.

And sure enough, the dark clouds moved in to obscure the setting suns, and the rain started: a hard, driving downpour that stabbed the skin like tiny needles. It washed the crusted blood from John's face, but every icy drop that hit his nose stung the sensitive, swollen flesh. Every breath he took seemed to be half full of water. The footing became even more hazardous as the rain mixed with the loose rock to form a treacherous slurry.

They had a brief argument when they encountered a stream cutting across the path. John wanted to slog straight through it – after all, they were wet already. Teyla thought the water was running too swiftly to cross in safety, and they should follow it until they found a place where the stream was less deep or narrow enough to jump across. What would, on any other occasion, have been an amicable disagreement rapidly escalated into viciousness, with John telling Teyla she was as paranoid as Rodney, and Teyla accusing John of suicidal foolhardiness.

McKay decided the issue for them by scrambling awkwardly up the hillside and shoving a small boulder the size of a suitcase off the loose rubble and into the stream. He used it as a stepping stone and glared at them from the other side.

They continued on, stopping several times to turn their faces to the sky and let their mouths fill with rain. The water soothed dry, dusty throats, but swallowing it chilled them from the inside out. By the time they reached the cave – without, luckily, running into the Ossining hunting party – they were all soaked to the skin and shivering, muddy to the knees and stumbling with exhaustion.

A thin stream cut a trench coming out of the cave mouth, but inside it was mostly dry. Rodney aimed his flashlight for John and Teyla to maneuver Ronon into the same side cavern they'd hid in earlier that day, finding a spot where he could recline against the gentle slope of a large boulder before collapsing on either side of him.

Once he'd caught his breath, John rolled onto his knees – and hissed, trying to keep an embarrassing whimper behind his teeth and falling back onto his ass. He'd forgotten his lacerated knees, but the pressure of his weight on them made all the little cuts open again.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Rodney, just me." John sighed. "Give me your flashlight, I want to check on Ronon."

"What do you want mine for? You have one of your own, use that."

"We should only use one at a time. The batteries probably won't last till morning."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Rodney had a very annoying habit of shining his flashlight directly in the face of whoever was speaking, and John tried hard to resist the urge to aim it at Rodney's eyes once it was in his hand. Instead, he hauled himself to his feet, unable to suppress the groan that rose in his throat. It took a moment before he could even move his feet on legs that were distressingly shaky, muscles twitching with fatigue.

"Okay, Ronon, open up those baby…browns for me, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Ronon, not surprisingly, growled at him. "Get that light outta my eyes, Sheppard. 'm fine." He tried to push John's arm away, and missed completely.

"Sure, buddy. Just let me see…well, your head has stopped bleeding, and the rain washed it clean, but there's a lot of swelling."

"He's probably concussed," Rodney told them. "We have to keep him from falling asleep, or he might be dead by morning."

"Now who's asking for trouble?" John asked, exasperated.

"Does he have a concussion?" Teyla asked, moving in beside him to peer at the Satedan. "No, open your eyes, Ronon." She cradled his chin with her small hand, holding him steady. "I think Rodney may be right…at least, that we should keep him from sleeping through the night. Someone will have to wake him every few hours."

Ronon pulled away from her. "'m fine," he slurred, eyes drifting closed.

"Let him rest for now," John told her. "We'll keep watch in two hour shifts and wake him up when we switch." He slid down to sit between Ronon and Rodney, wincing when his knees protested again. "I'll go first."

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the cave were the steady susurration of the rain outside and John breathing noisily through his mouth. Then his stomach growled loudly.

"Was that you, Sheppard?" Rodney hissed.

"Yeah. Hold on a sec, I think I've got a couple of Powerbars somewhere." Rummaging through the pockets of his tac vest produced two bars. He opened one and broke it in half, offering one of the halves to Rodney.

Rodney sighed heavily. "You don't have to share," he muttered, and came up with two more Powerbars from his own vest. John tossed his second bar to Teyla while Rodney downed one of his in record time, licking the crumbs from the wrapper. "Ronon?" he asked belatedly halfway through.

John shone the flashlight into the face of the man beside him. "He's asleep already, Rodney. You can give him your other bar when I wake him up." He ate both halves of his own bar, chewing slowly and carefully so as not to jar his aching face. When they had finished their paltry meal, John turned off the flashlight to conserve the batteries and they sat in the darkness, huddled together for warmth.

The chill of the rain-soaked evening air penetrated the cave, but John found himself hard-pressed not to fall asleep despite his discomfort. He was actually starting to get a little too warm, tucked in between Ronon and Rodney, who both had a tendency to give off heat like they had their own internal furnaces. When John jerked himself out of a doze for the third time to find Rodney's head resting heavily on his shoulder, he figured he'd better do something or none of them would wake until morning. He nudged Rodney lightly in the ribs, and the scientist sat up with a loud snort.

"Talk to me, Rodney," he murmured in McKay's ear.

"What? You're actually _asking_ me to talk?" Rodney shifted, and even though neither of them could see their own hands in front of their faces, John imagined the scientist staring incredulously at him.

"There's no way I'm going to stay awake otherwise. C'mon, I'll even play Prime/Not Prime with you."

He felt Rodney sigh and settle back. "Frankly, Colonel, I'm really not up to Prime/Not Prime right now. My shoulder aches, my head hurts from your face colliding with the back of my skull, I have a variety of bruises from you climbing all over me to get at Ronon…I'm cold, exhausted, and wet, and my ass is starting to go numb from sitting on the ground."

John had to grin a little at this litany of misery, which made his face hurt, but it was also comforting. If Rodney could complain, he wasn't doing too badly. "Y'know, if we had a fire and stuff for s'mores, this wouldn't be so bad. We could tell ghost stories."

"Shall I wave my magic wand?" The sarcasm in Rodney's voice wasn't nearly as sharp as usual, but it was enough. "Maybe if we wish really, really hard, Santa Claus will show up and take us back to Atlantis."

John snorted, then yelped when his nose twinged and started bleeding again, although this time it was no more than a sluggish trickle. "Oh, ow. Don't make me laugh, Rodney."

"Serves you right. If you'd only kept your mouth shut…you know, the idea that a person can induce misfortune simply by making an innocuous statement like…well, like the ones you've made today…is, of course, ridiculous. But on the other hand, this really has been a remarkably awful day. Where, as a scientist – as a rational, logical person – do you draw the line? At what point do you assert that coincidence is no longer sufficient explanation? Of course, there are those who posit that there's so such thing as coincidence."

"Synchronicity, right?" John asked, dredging up a vague memory of something he thought he'd seen on TV once.

"What? How do you – well, yes, although that's a very generic, catch-all term for a very complex set of concepts…and I'm too tired to speculate right now. Actually, I'm reminded of a story my grandfather used to tell about the Marx Brothers."

Rodney fell silent. John waited for him to continue, then nudged Rodney with his elbow again.

"Quit that!" Rodney smacked his arm, John wiggled his elbow _again_, and Ronon said sleepily, "Hey," and shoved one of _his_ elbows into John, knocking him sideways into Rodney, who yelled when his sore shoulder was jostled.

Teyla's voice cut through the darkness. "_Stop it_."

When John's face stopped hurting from laughing and the Satedan's steady breathing indicated that he was asleep again, he asked quietly, "So what was that about the Marx Brothers? Groucho, Chico, Harpo…"

"Hmm? Oh…er, and Zeppo and Gemmo, originally. You really want to hear about it?"

"Sure, why not? What else do we have to do? Seriously, Rodney, I'm not going to be able to stay awake by myself."

"Okay…well, the story takes place back before the Marx Brothers went to Hollywood and started making films, and before Harpo stopped talking. They traveled around to various cities in the US, performing in the vaudeville theatres. Apparently, in one particular town, the theatre owner refused to pay them the full wages they'd been promised. As they were driving away, Harpo said something along the lines of 'I hope the theatre burns down'. Well, a few days later, they found out that the theatre actually did burn down the day after they left.

"Of course, they thought it was just a coincidence, so they thought nothing more of it. But a month or so later, a theatre critic published a nasty review of their show. Harpo, feeling put out about this, said, 'I hope that critic takes a long walk off a short pier'."

"And later on they find out that something happened to the critic," John deduced.

"Exactly. He drove his car into a lake, or something like that. But there's no way Harpo could have been involved, so they didn't worry about it.

"And not much later, a third thing happened, and Groucho – as the eldest of the brothers – laid down the law and told Harpo that he was never to speak again, for fear that something awful would happen. So Harpo never spoke another word for the rest of his life."

John sat there and thought about that for a few minutes. To never speak again, in case what you said came true…on the face of it, it was ridiculous. But it would require tremendous willpower, and unshakable belief…

"Is it true?"

"No! Of course not, you moron." Rodney sounded almost scandalized, and John tried not to smile and make his face hurt again. "Harpo spoke all the time, just not in any of the films. I have no idea where my grandfather came up with the story, but it's completely apocryphal. And I'm pretty sure Groucho wasn't the eldest, anyways."

"So who was the eldest Marx Brother?"

"I don't know. What do I look like, _Wikipedia_?"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Rodney." John shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and failing completely. "Cool story, though. But I was always more of a fan of the Three Stooges than the Marx Brothers."

"Why am I not surprised?"

He could sense, if not see, Rodney rolling his eyes, and a sudden irritation flared up in the pit of his stomach. "What's that supposed to mean?" He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice, even though he knew it was petty and stupid, and he was only doing it because he was tired.

"Just that I'm not surprised," Rodney said airily. "The Three Stooges are the epitome of slapstick violence. There's no wit involved, no intelligence, just three grown men acting like four-year-olds. Which is exactly why they appeal to anyone whose sense of humor is still stuck at the level of a child."

"The Three Stooges," John growled, "were talented physical comedians following in the footsteps of the great silent film actors. The Marx Brothers relied on cheap innuendo and silly accents."

"You could say the same about Monty Python," Rodney shot back, "and yet I don't hear you complaining when anyone chooses _'Holy Grail'_ for movie night!"

"_Gentlemen!_" Teyla's voice, louder than either of them, echoed through the cave. "Tomorrow will be a difficult day for us. I strongly suggest you both try to get some sleep. I will take this watch."

John had seldom heard Teyla sound honestly pissed off, but the ice in her voice was enough to clamp his mouth shut, and he felt Rodney go still beside him.

"Um…sorry, Teyla," McKay muttered.

"Sorry," John echoed, feeling embarrassingly like a kid who'd just be scolded by his mother. It was always disconcerting that she could do that. Elizabeth could make him feel that way too, sometimes, and he'd seen both women do it to Rodney, as well. It seemed to be an innate ability most women possessed, whether they had children or not: that tone of voice that took him straight back to childhood and made him feel like he'd just been put in time-out.

And for Teyla to use it on him, she must be as fed up and worn out as he felt, despite being the only uninjured member of the team.

_Nice one, John_, he told himself. Naturally, as the only person on their team who wasn't hurt, it was Teyla's responsibility to take charge. That was SOP, standard operating procedure, and he'd been making things difficult for her. The last thing she needed – that any of them needed – was for him to pick a fight with Rodney, and as tired as he was, he'd probably end up saying something he'd regret.

He sighed and tried to relax, closing his eyes against the utter darkness of the cave. Now that he didn't have the distraction of conversation, it was harder to ignore the hot, tight ache of his face. His nose probably wasn't as huge as it felt, but the bruising was undoubtedly spectacular. He wasn't vain about his appearance – well, no more than any other guy – but come morning he was going to look pretty bad.

The important thing about the morning, though, would be avoiding the Ossining hunting party and getting to the Stargate. Any truly constructive plan would have to wait until they reached the area around the Gate, but he started running through possible scenarios anyways, hoping to come up with an idea. Their best bet would be to create some kind of diversion...

Beside him, Rodney was already snoring softly, close enough for John to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The combination of sound and motion was almost hypnotic. His train of thought wavered, dissipated, and finally John let his head rest on Ronon's arm and drifted.

"Sheppard. Wake up."

The deep voice pulled him abruptly out of darkness into…more darkness. He was slumped against a cold stone wall. He pried his eyes open reluctantly, blinking the sleep out of them, and let out a howl when a bright light shot needles of pain directly into his eyes and drilled through to his brain.

"What the hell –" He flailed, his hand smacking into something hard and cold, and the light clattered to the ground. The circle of brightness it cast fluttered around the cave. John sat up, wide awake now and struggling away from the faces that peered at him.

"Sheppard!" Rodney shouted from somewhere nearby. John lunged toward him, crashing into a large form that rolled him over and pinned him to the ground effortlessly. Suddenly, Rodney's face floated into view above him, illuminated by a flashlight. "Just – stay still, would you?"

"What's going on?" John shoved at the person holding him down, astonished when they let go and sat back. "Did they find us?"

"No," Teyla's voice came out of the darkness. Rodney aimed the flashlight at her face, and she winced and took it away from him. "We are still undiscovered."

"You fell asleep." The man who had pinned him turned out to be Ronon, showing him a Cheshire cat grin that seemed to float in the semi-darkness.

"We _all_ fell asleep," Rodney added. "I'm amazed that the cave didn't flood and drown us. Or some animal could have wandered in and slaughtered us."

"What were we saying yesterday about not borrowing trouble?" John asked, then turned to Teyla. "Has it stopped raining?"

She smiled. "It has. The sky is clear and I think it will be a beautiful day. There is no sign that the Ossining have been anywhere near our sanctuary during the night."

If he could bottle and sell that smile, John thought, he'd make a fortune. Having it directed at him was almost a better aid to waking up than a cup of coffee.

Not that a cup of coffee wouldn't be really welcome just now.

"How you doin', Ronon?" He turned his attention to the man who remained head and shoulders above him, even sitting.

Ronon shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Says the man who can't even walk in a straight line," Rodney snapped.

"But," Teyla interrupted, "he is much improved. We will help him." She rose to her feet with less than her usual grace.

John started to get up and understood her clumsiness immediately. Every joint and muscle in his body protested the movement, but he staggered after Teyla into warm, bright sunshine, blinking until his eyes adjusted. He reached up to wipe the sleep from them, flinching when his fingers found bruised, swollen flesh.

"Ow," he muttered, delicately tracing the size and shape of his nose. It was still solidly clogged, and his tongue was dry from breathing through his mouth all night.

"If you don't leave it alone, it'll heal crooked." Rodney stepped around him, leading Ronon, who was definitely upright, but even less steady on his feet than Sheppard felt.

"Does it look as bad as it feels?"

"You look like you're auditioning for _Rocky_. Care to try a scream of 'Adrian' for us?"

The smirk John attempted turned out to be a bad idea, but he made an attempt at snarking back. "You think I coulda been a contender?"

That only drew a frown from McKay. "Was that supposed to be Marlon Brando? Seriously, Sheppard, don't do that. It's just…disturbing."

"Weren't you saving that last Powerbar for Ronon?" John deliberately changed the subject. Rodney sighed, but willingly drew out the foil-wrapped package and handed it over to Ronon, who ate it so fast it looked like he'd swallowed it whole.

Teyla took point this time, searching out a viable path. John and Ronon followed, the big man a little wobbly but doing much better, and Rodney brought up the rear, watching anxiously for any sign of the Ossining hunting party. The rain had swept the ground partially clear of the slippery shards of rock that made the terrain so difficult the previous day, and they were able to move faster. It was still slower than their normal pace due to the thinner air at this high altitude that had tired them all out much faster than usual. Now it was just one more hindrance, slowing them down.

They'd been lucky, John thought darkly, his mood darkening even as the sky lightened. He should have stayed awake himself, keeping an eye on Ronon and watching for the Ossining. Rodney wasn't far wrong – they really could have been killed in their sleep.

And there wasn't anything they could have done if Ronon had slipped into a coma in the night, and the unbroken rest seemed to have helped rather than harmed him. The Specialist wasn't exactly alert, but he was lucid, and John's hand under his elbow seemed to be all the support he needed for now. The lump on his head had gone down a bit, but it was covered with a crusty scab of dried blood that looked gruesome. In the bright morning sunlight, the grayish cast to his skin was noticeable.

He glanced back at Rodney. The scientist was showing the strain, too. He'd been remarkably quiet for the most part, and a quiet McKay made Sheppard suspicious and worried. Trudging doggedly along in their wake, he used his good hand to help keep the other arm from being jostled by his movement over the rough ground. Rodney looked as tired and worn down as John felt.

Even Teyla looked tired. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her hair tie, and her hair hung in limp, straggled hanks around her face. John was used to seeing her move with a light, floating grace, as though she stayed still and the ground scrolled beneath her; but now she walked with a shuffling pace, feet dragging.

"Teyla?" Rodney called out, his voice high and thin. The scientist had been plodding along behind them in uncharacteristic silence. They were all too tired for conversation, saving their breath just to keep moving.

Rodney called again. "Teyla."

She turned slightly, looking past John and Ronon. Whatever she saw on Rodney's face made her frown. "We will rest here for a few minutes," she told them.

John glanced at his watch. They'd only been traveling for about an hour. He thought about insisting that they keep moving, but Ronon was already moving to sit down, holding onto John's arm to control his descent, and a look from Teyla warned him not to protest.

John crouched down in front of Ronon – or tried to, but his knees cracked and the half-healed cuts stung as the movement stretched them, so he ended up bending from the waist instead.

"Hey, Ronon?" He touched the big man's shoulder, detecting a slight tremor under his hand.

"Got a headache," the Satedan admitted quietly. "I'm not gonna be much help when we get to the Gate."

"Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"

"A little." He sighed. "Sorry, Sheppard."

"Not your fault, buddy." John knew that Ronon had to be feeling pretty bad in order to actually admit it.

He turned to Rodney, but Teyla was already with the scientist, helping him settle his arm more comfortably.

"Rodney? You okay?" John asked.

"What do you think? Of course I'm not okay. None of us are. We won't get within a hundred meters of the Stargate without –" Teyla caught Rodney's eye, and he broke off, sighing heavily. "I'm fine, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I'm tired, my shoulder aches, my back hurts where you climbed all over me to get to Ronon," he glared at John, but there was no bite behind it or the words, "and it's hard to catch my breath at this altitude, but I'm fine. I just need to rest for a few minutes."

"Good to hear, buddy." John grinned at him, then winced as the movement pulled at his swollen nose.

Rodney's sharp eyes caught his discomfort. "Your face looks awful. You know it was an accident, right? I mean, it was your own fault for putting your face in the way, but I never intentionally – that is, it was a completely involuntary reaction on my part, I wouldn't want you to think that I'd ever – "

"I know," John interrupted. "Rodney, I know."

"Oh. Well. Good, then." He looked relieved. John just hoped he wouldn't bring up the subject again.

Turning to Teyla, Sheppard found her gazing at him with distinct approval.

"How are you feeling, John?" she asked. "And don't tell me you are 'fine'. I can tell that your knees still hurt."

He shrugged. "Funny how small injuries almost hurt worse than big ones sometimes, isn't it? It's like I have a million papercuts on my knees, and every time I move, they open up again."

"And your face? I fear you really have broken your nose."

"Probably not the first time," Rodney muttered.

John shook his head. "Actually, it is. Somehow I've managed to avoid that until now. Believe me, I wish I'd continued to avoid it."

Suddenly there was a loud scuffle from the rocks above them, a shower of pebbles and shards, and a single Ossining warrior slid down the hillside to land on the path in front of them. Sheppard and the hunter stared at each other for a single, startled moment. The man wore his bow slung over his shoulder, and had John's own field knife on his belt. A livid bruise on his cheek looked almost a swollen and painful as John's nose.

Ronon swore and fumbled for his blaster, momentarily forgetting that he didn't have it.

A shout came from the top of the top of the slope just as John pulled out the knives Ronon had given to him and tensed for an attack. Adrenaline flooded his body, masking the drag of pain and exhaustion.

"Oh god, we're dead," he heard Rodney whimper. The scientist and Teyla stepped closer to John and Ronon as more warriors scrambled down the hillside and surrounded them.

McKay was right. They didn't stand a chance against the Ossining warriors – they were outnumbered, outgunned even with arrows and spears, injured and exhausted. The Ossining even had the home ground advantage.

Ronon wavered, and Teyla moved slightly in front of him, her face hard and determined. She had taken off her jacket to make a more supportive sling for Rodney's arm, and now the clear sunlight gleamed on arms left bare by her shirt and the bulky tac vest. She was grubby and tired, her BDU pants wrinkled and smudged, her hair dull and tangled. And at that moment she was the most beautiful woman John had ever seen.

He caught his breath as the gaze of every Ossining hunter was drawn to Teyla like a magnet.

Automatically assessing their captors for combat readiness, John was startled to find them looking almost as bad as his own team. Nearly every one of the fourteen men and women seemed to be wounded in some way. Bandages torn from their clothing adorned scrapes and cuts, one had his arm splinted, another leaned heavily on her bow, and they all looked bruised and weary.

"What the hell happened to you?" Rodney exclaimed loudly, staring at a hunter who looked like he'd lost a fight with a sharp piece of paper. Every exposed inch of skin was covered with tiny cuts and welts.

And as easily as that, the tension was broken. The man with the splinted arm stepped hesitantly forward.

"I am Wanurk, Hunt Master," he announced, carefully polite. "Please tell me - how have you survived the angry spirits of our Ancestors, who dwell here in the mountains?"

"Spirits?" John repeated in spite of himself.

"Ancestors?" Teyla asked warily.

"The spirits of the Ancestors," the Hunt Master explained, as if it was obvious. "They must be very angry with us. We lost two of our Hunt to sliding rock, and three more to flood water last night. I myself fell, and barely escaped the shardstone that caught poor Rettap." He indicated the fellow with the multitude of small cuts. "But all of you are still alive, and you, Lady – you are entirely unharmed?"

Teyla exchanged a wary glance with John. "I am not hurt."

Wanurk shook his head. "You must be favored by the spirits, Lady."

John could practically hear the capital letter when he called Teyla 'Lady'.

"I have wandered these mountains many times in my life," continued Wanurk, "when the Ancestors were quiet as well as when they were angry. I have never come away without some injury when the Ancestor spirits were unhappy. Please, Lady, come back to the Circle of Worlds with us, you and your men. Perhaps the Ancestors will have mercy upon us and make the Circle work again."

Rodney snorted. "If you wait for these 'spirits' to fix your problems, you'll be waiting forever. _I_, on the other hand –"

"My friend has learned much from the Ancestors," Teyla interrupted. "I am sure he can repair the Circle of Worlds. In exchange for letting us return to our own world, of course."

Wanurk had been staring at Teyla as if she was the sudden personification of every childhood tale come true: a mixture of fear and reverence and adoration. Now he spared an almost disbelieving glance at McKay before turning back to her. "I – I cannot speak for the Elder, gracious Lady, but if your servant can do this…he will have no choice but to grant any demands you make, I think."

Rodney looked ready to protest being called 'servant', but Sheppard poked his arm and glared at him in warning.

"Then we will come with you," Teyla acquiesced in her usual graceful manner.

The trip back to the Stargate was swift and relatively easy with people who knew the best way down. It still involved frequent rest stops for Ronon, who tried to push on, but was visibly tiring. Rodney wasn't much better: the thin air made him wheeze slightly, and every time he slipped on the loose gravel, his shoulder was jarred and he fought the instinct to fling out both arms for balance.

John's nose was still stopped up, and all the mouth-breathing made his tongue dry and his sinuses ache. None of his injuries were severe, but as he'd told Teyla, all the small discomforts added up to a draining weariness. Teyla herself, though clearly tired, was alert and watching for any chance to continue to turn the situation to their advantage.

"This 'shardstone'," Rodney caught up with the leader of the warriors, ignoring John's warning glance to keep his mouth shut, "listen, Warner – Wannick -"

"Wanurk," the Hunt Master supplied.

"Right. Whatever. This 'shardstone', is that the white obsidian this place is littered with?" The scientist bent down to scoop up a handful of gravel and let most of it slide through his fingers, coming up with a few pieces of the fish-scale rock. "Ow," he muttered as one of them sliced his finger.

"Yes, that is shardstone," Wanurk told him. "Sometimes a solid wall will shatter into these tiny pieces. It cuts anything it touches. When it rains, streams flowing down the mountain pick up many of these pieces. Then the water is deadly, for it will slice your skin to ribbons."

"But does it have any actual, practical use?" McKay persisted.

"Use? No. For all its sharpness, it is far too delicate to use for knives or spear-heads."

"Not exactly the type of use I had in mind," Rodney grumbled.

When he saw the large crowd of Ossining warriors still hanging around the Stargate, John had to wonder if they'd just stepped voluntarily from the frying pan into the fire. The looks of dismay and disappointment that greeted Wanurk and his hunting party weren't quite what he was expecting, though.

Wanurk paid no attention, but led them straight to a skinny, wiry old man whose weathered skin showed the scars of a long ago encounter with the 'shardstone'. John belatedly recognized him as the maniacally screeching Elder who had insisted that he and his team were evil.

"Wanurk! What is this? Why have you brought them back?" The old man looked near tears. "You will doom us all."

The Hunt Master bowed slightly. "Elder, I think we were mistaken. The spirits of the Ancestors turned against us yesterday. Awver and Nisnoksim, Sumbol and Falo and Mosettan were all lost to the mountains. We lost sight of the strangers and could not find them anywhere, though we looked through the night. But see, Elder – though they are injured, the strangers all live – and the Lady is entirely unhurt. I do not believe the spirits want their sacrifice."

The old man looked them over, his sharp eyes lingering on Teyla, before he nodded. "Perhaps you are right, Wanurk. To lose five of our warriors in one night in the mountains – that must be a sign from the Ancestors."

"We believe," Teyla said carefully, "that the Ancestor spirits led us to shelter last night." Rodney shot her a look of puzzlement, then outrage, but John poked him before he could open his mouth. "Please, tell us why you thought that they wanted you to sacrifice us to them."

"Far up in the mountains there is a cave," the Elder told them gravely, "and within the cave there is a hole. It is the mouth of the world, and the spirits of the Ancestors live there. I myself have heard them howling and crying with strange, thin voices. Sometimes we see their breath, like black smoke, rising into the air. Sometimes there is a smell like rotted meat."

"I told you it was a volcano," Rodney hissed in Sheppard's ear.

"It is then that we know the spirits are angry, and demand a tribute. So one of us is chosen to go up to the cave, and that one must throw himself into the hole. That hole has no end – it goes on and on, deep into the heart of the world. If you throw a rock into it, you will never hear it hit the bottom." The old man shook his head sadly. "The last man we sent to the spirits was my grandson, a fine, strong young warrior. But his life did not appease them. Then you came through the Circle of Worlds, and I hoped…you see, the Wraith came not long ago, and took more of our people than ever before. I thought that perhaps the spirits would be satiated with your lives and my people might be spared. When you escaped and ran higher up the mountain, towards the cave, I was certain that it must be your destiny to feed the spirits."

McKay snorted. "You were actually going to sacrifice us to the volcano gods. How incredibly original. Tell me, Colonel, how do we get into these situations?"

"Rodney, shut up!" John hissed.

"We did find a cave," Teyla explained, "though not, I think, the one you speak of. We hid there and watched your hunters pass by. Later, when my friends were injured, we returned to it and took refuge there for the night."

"And so the hunters I sent to ensure your sacrifice lost your trail, and the mountain hindered and even attacked them. And you…" He stared at them. "I think the spirits tested you, and found you worthy. Our hunters were not so favorably judged.

"It is my own fault, I fear," the old man continued, visibly deflated from the burning-eyed lunatic who had denounced them just yesterday. "I foolishly thought I knew the will of the spirits. After my grandson gave his life to the Ancestors, I claimed that we would be safe. And after the Wraith came, I declared that no other disaster could possibly fall upon us. But the spirits must have heard me, and the mountains have been more treacherous than ever. I am a fool, and the Ancestors remain unsatisfied."

John could feel his team staring at him. "I know exactly how you feel, sir," he said uncomfortably. "I've had a similar experience myself just recently."

Rodney just shook his head in disgust, and Ronon, leaning heavily on the scientist's good shoulder, let out a heavy sigh.

Teyla laid a gentle hand on the old man's arm. "Perhaps the spirits of the Ancestors no longer require such sacrifices from your people. The Wraith have woken early, and they are hungry. You need all your warriors, and I am certain the spirits know this. They are not angry because they wish you to sacrifice to them – they are angry because they do _not_ want you give them a sacrifice."

The Elder stared at her, then grabbed her hand and kissed it. "I think you must be correct, Lady. You are as wise as you are beautiful." He looked like a drowning man who had just been thrown a life preserver.

Teyla blushed, but let him hold her hand.

"Tell me, Lady," the Elder continued, "what can I do to repay your kindness and your wisdom? Anything you ask – it is yours."

Rodney took this as his cue to jump up and not so much ask as demand to look at the damaged DHD. It took him about fifteen minutes to open up the base, rummage around inside, complain that it would have taken him half the time with two working arms, and smugly announce that it was fixed.

At that point, the Elder was almost in tears over the generous nature of the 'wise lady' and her friends. At his command, their weapons were returned to them, and they were invited to stay for a celebratory feast. Teyla politely declined just as the Stargate burst into life.

Elizabeth's voice howled in John's ear. For a moment, he just stared at the glimmering puddle within the circle of the Stargate, almost limp with relief.

_"Colonel Sheppard? Teyla? Are you there? Report, please!"_

"We're here, Elizabeth," he announced. "A little worse for wear, but still here."

_"We've been trying to dial your location for hours, but the wormhole wouldn't connect. What happened?"_

"Just a little misunderstanding and an accident with the DHD."

_"Accident?"_

"Yeah. Got shot up with a P-90, but everything's okay now. We just have to say our goodbyes, and then we're coming home."

_"I look forward to a full report, Colonel,"_ Elizabeth said crisply just before the wormhole dissipated.

Rodney dialed Atlantis without hesitation, sent their ID transmission, and headed straight for the Gate. Ronon actually had his eyes closed, clutching Rodney's good shoulder and trusting the scientist to lead him.

John nodded to Wanurk and the Elder, waiting for Teyla to tear herself away from the grateful old man. His change of attitude had spread quickly among the Ossining hunters gathered around the Stargate, and John found himself the object of many smiles and bows, although they seemed to be mostly directed at Teyla.

He wasn't complaining. It was kind of nice not to be the leader for once, not to have to worry about putting his foot in his mouth. John wasn't half the diplomat Teyla was, and he knew it.

He'd certainly think twice before making certain types of statements from now on. It seemed ridiculous in the clear light of day that one seemingly innocent remark could bring down such disaster on them, but…then again, he'd seen stranger things in the past couple of years. And there really were 'spirits of the Ancestors' hanging around out there. They weren't supposed to influence things on this plane of existence, but…you never knew when someone might actually be listening.

"Are we going or not?" Rodney yelled, breaking John's train of thought. "Because Ronon and I aren't waiting for you."

They went through the Stargate together – not through any plan or intention of solidarity, but just because Ronon stumbled going through and they were all trying to keep him from falling over and taking McKay with him. Actually, John wasn't feeling all that steady himself.

Elizabeth started down the main staircase from the Control Center as soon as they emerged into the Atlantis Gate Room. Halfway down, she slowed and halted, staring.

"What…what happened to you?" she asked. "You look…"

"Terrible," Rodney supplied. "Which, not so coincidentally, is exactly how I feel."

"At least you're all on your feet this time. Wow," she had just caught sight of John's face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Mostly tired and sore. Ronon probably has a concussion, Rodney had a dislocated shoulder but Teyla put it back into place. Oh, and Rodney broke my nose."

"I see. Did you have any good luck?"

"We found white obsidian," John said. "Very sharp, and utterly useless unless you have a burning desire to julienne people."

Ronon swayed slightly, aiming a weary grin at Elizabeth, and Sheppard grabbed him again. "C'mon, big guy," John murmured, "let's get you seated until we can get you a ride to the infirmary." He maneuvered Ronon over to the main staircase and helped him sit while Elizabeth came the rest of the way down, calling for a med team as she approached.

"White obsidian?" she asked.

"I don't know what the Ancients wanted with it," Rodney announced, plonking himself down on the steps beside Ronon. "Moreover, I don't care, and I'm never going back to that planet again."

Ronon put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Me neither."

Deliberately not letting Elizabeth catch his eye, John peered down at his legs and muttered, "I think my knees are getting infected." He suppressed a smile of satisfaction when Weir turned to Teyla.

"It is a long story, Elizabeth. I fear we had no success with our mission. We made new friends, but the Ossining have nothing to offer in trade. The rest of my team," she indicated the men with an almost proprietary air, "should all go directly to the infirmary, but I am unhurt and would be pleased to debrief you as soon as I have cleaned up."

"Clean," Rodney moaned theatrically. "I can't wait to get clean."

"It's good to be home," John sighed, smiling, feeling almost sentimental. His smile faltered when he spotted the medics entering the Gate Room.

"Didn't I ask you to come back safely?" Elizabeth gave him a wry grin. "Seems like Teyla was the only one paying attention." She started back up the steps.

"You may rest assured that I am _always_ paying attention, Elizabeth." Teyla's gentle smile more than made up for the smugness of her tone. "I will stop by the infirmary later to see how you are all doing," she told her teammates as she turned away.

John looked up and opened his mouth, but was too late to warn her about the medical kit lying on the floor behind her. One small foot landed squarely in the middle of the open kit and twisted under her. The plastic container slid on the smooth floor of the Gate Room, sending gauze pads flying, sending her even farther off balance. Teyla fell with a pained cry and an unpleasant thud.

They all stared at her in startled silence until Ronon chuckled. "It is not wise to tempt the Ancestors, remember?" he quoted her back to herself.

"No," she agreed breathlessly, clutching her ankle and wiping sudden tears from her eyes, "it is not wise at all. Clearly, they are paying better attention than I was."

"I'm thinking maybe Harpo Marx had the right idea after all," Rodney told John. "It might be safer for us to stop talking altogether."

John thought about that for a moment, glancing around at his team, reading the relief in each one's eyes at being home again and…well, relatively safe.

"Nah," he drawled. "Never gonna happen."

fin

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

_**The Marx Brothers:**_ My father used to tell the story about Harpo Marx that McKay tells Sheppard in this story. I have no idea where he heard it, but it's completely untrue.

_**'White obsidian'**_ is also fictional. I know next to nothing about geology. I got the idea from a picture of a black sand beach (black sand is made from volcanic rock) and a fish scale I found in a can of tuna.

_**Ossining**_ is an actual place in the state of New York. I like using unusual place names or people and place names spelled backwards for the names of aliens, alien peoples, and planets. For example, 'Nisnoksim' comes from spelling 'Wisconsin' backwards and upside-down.


End file.
